Blow On That
by Shadowsammy
Summary: /One-Shot/ He really, really wished that he'd kept that damn whistle, too! /One-Shot/


~Blow on That~

Warnings: Rated for Language and Male Slash

Pairings: Reid X (? Unknown ?)

Possible Spoilers: Quotes in Reference to Episode "L.D.S.K." It's An Old One Though, So We Should All Be Good! :o)

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

Reid really wished that he'd listened to him earlier.

Morgan's words echoed in his head: _We're all here for you. I'm serious. If you ever need anything…blow on that._

He really, _really_ wished that he'd kept that damn whistle, too!

Reid gasped for breath as he bolted down the stretch of grass. His chest ached and his legs were burning, but he did not stop running. Refused. Because if he did… He'd be a dead man.

And Reid really didn't want to die.

Reid's long legs dutifully carried him across the grass, obeying his demands for speed. Faster and faster he went and the world passed by in a blur. Flying, he was flying! Like a Thranta! Yeah, a Thranta! Surviving even the threat of extinction at the evil wrath of the first Death Star!

…wait, what was he doing again?

Er…

Running? _Check. _

Gun? _Check. _

Oh, right. He was running for his life. Duh.

A soft crack brought his mind slamming back into his body. He whirled around, trying to gauge the damage that had been wrought upon the plastic bag by the heavy ammunition being unleashed from his opponent's weapon. The damaged area was the size of a fist.

A large, powerful fist.

Reid paled. He turned back around and slid across the grass, taking advantage of the fact that it was early morning and the collection of small, green blades were wet with dew. He skidded behind a tall, brightly colored wall, trying desperately to catch his breath and gather his wits.

Breath? _On Strike._

Wits? _Temporarily Out of Order._

Oh, shit. He – Spencer Reid – was a dead man. A very young, very smart, very _dead_ man.

At the faint sound of approaching footsteps, he forced himself to relax. He could outsmart this man; he definitely could! He was Dr. Spencer Reid, one of the youngest agents in BAU history. He was a genius; his IQ was higher than that of Albert Einstein, for Christ's sake!

Gideon's voice now: _You don't need a gun to kill somebody._

And yet…he felt safer with the long, black gun in his possession. The gun was clenched tightly between his fingers, his knuckles white at the sheer force of his grasp.

"Spencer? Where are you, Spencer? Come on out and play, little Spencer!"

His words were mocking, taunting him in such a simple way, but…it worked.

_To hell with outsmarting him! _Reid thought angrily. _I'm gonna beat him at his own game!_

Reid's finger tightened on the trigger of his weapon as he peeked around the corner. He inhaled sharply, took aim, and fired.

A muffled curse was his reward. Reid grinned to himself triumphantly before moving onward, hiding behind yet another wall. He rifled through his pockets for more ammunition and discovered them to be…

Empty.

Empty?

_Empty… Oh, shit. Now what do I do? _Reid panicked.

"And what do we have here?"

The deep voice sent chills down his spine and it took all of his self control not to break down and submit to his enemy right then and there. Reid hated submission. And he refused to surrender without a fight. He was not in high school anymore. Dr. Spencer Reid was a federal agent! He might not have his gun, but he was _still _an agent! He could rely on his training. Like Anakin Skywalker! Reid had his own personal Obi-Wan Kenobi! And his name was -

Hotch: _It's not that hard; a Dalmatian could do it!_

And Reid lunged, tackling his opponent to the ground, forcing him on side and pinning his arms. He knew that this man was stronger so also he leaned into a pressure point or two, temporarily paralyzing him.

"Fuck! That hurts, man!"

A satisfied smirk claimed the young agent's lips. "It's supposed to."

"Dammit, Pretty Boy, you're crushing the family jewels," was the muffled whine of his opponent.

"Aw," Reid cooed. "Does big, bad Derek have a boo-boo?" At his stubborn silence, Reid added, "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Feeling somewhat humiliated, Derek rolled his eyes. "Remind me never to challenge you to a game of paintball ever again!"

Spencer grinned, happily chirping, "You wish is my eidetic memory's command!"

Derek sighed. "Spencer?"

"Yes?" Spencer inquired.

"Get off!" Derek growled at the younger man, wiggling to emphasize his point.

"Why?"

"Because I _need _what you are _crushing_! It's my _livelihood._"

"Actually, it's your manhood," Spencer corrected, before continuing in a serious voice, "I find myself in need of something too, Derek. But I seemed to have misplaced my whistle, so I guess we're both out of luck."

And then his soft, brown eyes were lit with mischief. "Maybe I should blow on this instead?"


End file.
